That Special Someone
by Christy Anderson
Summary: A tale of the romance between Neal and Yuki... now chapter 5 - can Neal resolve the haunting issue from his past?
1. StarStruck Mr Fickle

**Author: Christy Anderson**

**Date: June 6, 2002**

**You can contact me at christy1865yahoo.com or leave a review.**

**Author's Note: This was a challenge issued by my friend, mandi-girl, to all readers of Tamora Pierce fan-fiction. While I knew at the time that I would have any time at all to write this, it stuck with me, and when someone threw Squire at me, this plotline kind of hit me like that book. Inspiration is a funny thing. So… Chapter 1 of the elaborated Neal/Yuki plot line. Hope you enjoy it! **

**Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me. Full rights to Tamora Pierce and her publisher. The storyline is not mine either. Parts of this fic come paraphrased directly from Squire. If you read the book, you'll recognize it. So let's not hear about plagiarism, it's all here.**

**Chapter 1: Star-Struck Mr. Fickle**

Neal sat at the familiar table in the Dining Hall, surrounded by his friends. Gloomily he stared at his near empty plate. All that was left to eat was the vegetables- unappetizing vegetables staring back up at him like a hungry centaur. Neal sighed unhappily and picked his fork up again. The least he could do was to shovel them around his plate so they'd think they might be eaten. Poor veggies. But then again, if they were hungry centaurs, they weren't to be pitied. --? Neal stopped thinking and shook his head. Where was he going with that anyway? His heart had just been ripped to shreds, and he was debating proper vegetable décor

From across the table, Cleon gave him a worried look. "Are you okay?"

Neal paused mid-veggie-shove, debating how to answer. On the one calamitous hand, he was heart-broken, but on the other, there would be people laughing, making merry in his wretchedness. From past experience, he would rather not tell the whole table. He set the choices on an imaginary balance before him. Get comfort, or become the court jester. Get comfort, or become the court jester. Not a particularly hard choice. All in all, it was better if the jolly giant didn't know. So instead Neal put on a typical goofy smile. "Veggies…" he joked nervously, forcing away his melancholy. For now his misery was pointless anyway.

Cleon raised an eyebrow of doubt. "You look like you've been through one of Wyldon's workouts. The Lioness?"

Neal shook his head. He wished ardently that his knight-master was the source of all his problems, but despite her temper, the two of them had been getting along relatively well. And because she wasn't the reason, but to be more precise something much more intimate and private, he'd rather not talk about this subject now. "I'm fine," he added when Cleon continued to look suspicious, "really, Cleon, I'm dandy as a daffodil."

Cleon smiled evilly, ready to elaborate on the old joke. "And it's not even spring, yet, princess. Would you look at that…"

Slightly annoyed, Neal shot Cleon a dirty look. He especially was not in the mood for witty retorts. Out of the blue, Cleon's remark from years before came back to him. Oh, this was wicked… No matter how torn he felt, Neal just couldn't resist getting back at the immense mass beside him. The corners of his mouth turned up in half-smile. "That's because I'm sitting next to such a large, fresh pile of dung."

Instinctively, Cleon's large hands tightened into fists, his face turning a dazzling shade of red. Neal felt his spirits soar for just a moment as he knew he had scored one on Cleon. That would serve him right for bugging in. He almost would have laughed out loud, had he not been afraid of being beaten to a pulp. Sure the two of them were almost matched in strength, but Cleon undeniably had the height advantage.

Neal felt the fear loosen in his chest as, on either side of the table, his friends sat with their sides in stitches.

"Come on, Cleon," Prosper implored, "it was only a joke."

Exasperated, Cleon unclenched his fists and relaxed, counting to ten. He smiled wanly. "It was kind of funny," the colossal redhead admitted, suddenly laughing along with the rest of the table. "I don't know why I even asked in the first place."

"Asked what?" With second helpings in hand, jolly Owen bounded up to the table in his usual jolly manner. He paused for one jolly moment, regaining the jolly balance of his jolly high stack of jolly healthy, nutritious food.

"Nothing," Neal answered quickly, hoping to move past the touchy subject so Owen wouldn't spill the beans. A picture of Lady Adelaide taunting him, flashed through his mind. She just stood there, talking to… to… that guy. "Don't worry, he's just some local urchin who keeps sending me poetry… Oh don't be jealous, Frederic, really! His poetry doesn't even make sense." Another scene flashed by of Owen hiding in the corner of the room… questioning Owen… the Owen who was so easy to talk to, especially when he was upset… the Owen who always cheered him up… and, now that he thought about it, the Owen who occasionally let secrets slip. At the moment, he was beginning to feel exceptionally stupid for revealing the entire situation to Owen, but at the time, it had been necessary. After all, Owen had witnessed the total humiliating episode.

Instead of progressing past it, however, Cleon in his normal targeted manner glanced at Neal suspiciously, noting the hasty answer. "Just commenting on how blue Neal looked," he dropped in nonchalantly, baiting the hook.

Neal's heart was thrown into his throat. He couldn't stand to see the irony of it all. Please Owen, he willed, don't say anything. But taking the bait, Owen shrugged, oblivious to the desperate, pleading looks Neal was giving him from across the table. "He's just depressed over his latest love." Neal's heart sank to his stomach.

Cleon's smile lit up to his ears. "Really?" he asked, his interest renewed. "And just who might be this rare visage of Neal's enchantment?"

"Why Lady Adelaide!" Owen blurted recklessly.

By now, Neal could feel his heart in his toes. Neal shot Owen a final dirty look, suddenly feeling nauseated, as the table exploded in curiosity. And it wasn't the veggies that were bringing up the peptic acid.

Finally enlightened, Owen looked stricken. "Ooops… I shouldn't have said that."

Cleon whistled, shaking his head. "It's all right, Squirt. You're among friends, and it won't leave the table. But Neal! Not even three days at court, the Lady Adelaide, and she has you making eyes at her." Cleon opened his gray eyes wide and gooey, eyelashes batting furiously.

"Are you just smitten, or is your love requited?" Prosper inquired reticently.

Neal only sighed wistfully, throwing his head down between his arms.

"Come on, Neal," Cleon cajoled, "enlighten us."

Somehow, the presence of his old friend made his situation seem somehow lighter. It wasn't as important. "She doesn't care for my poetry," he confessed slowly.

Roald's face scrunched up defensively at the mention of Neal's literary illness. "Who does?"

Neal smiled at his friend's joke, even though it was at his own expense. He had to admit that his poetry needed work. There were several times he had swallowed his own pride and even asked for the help of others. But at least he had a motto. If you're going to go down with the ship, you might as well go playing or singing or something like that. Not like his motto made any sense. In short it meant that if you're going to tell a story, you might as well tell the whole thing. "I've been sending her poetry ever since I met her. You should see her. She's wonderful. And yesterday, after hours of work on the poem that may be the epic of my erudite achievement, she had the gall to insult it!"

"Your poetry probably gave her acid stomach," a voice from farther down the table shouted.

Cleon gave his friend a hug. "It's not the end of the world… she can't hate you over poetry, even if its as bad as yours."

"I will not be consoled," Neal continued ascetically. "You don't know the half of it. This morning, when I went to apologize for being me, my Lady Adelaide was kissing someone else, some 'Frederic.' She told him that she didn't even know me. Oh my heart has been struck- I shall not live!" Even more dramatically, Neal clasped his heart and fell unceremoniously onto Cleon.

"Get up, you big oaf!" Cleon demanded, suddenly crushed by Neal's unapparent, full weight. "There's more fish in the sea."

Quick as lightening, he sat back up, moaning to himself. "You don't know how it feels to be scorned, yet still sick with love."

"You mean indigestion," the same voice rumbled from down the table.

Neal abruptly sobered up further. "What are you saying?" he accused.

"That sick feeling you have is more likely to be the food," Cleon answered seriously.

"The food?" Neal asked incredulously. What were they talking about? What he felt had nothing to do with what he ate! He was in love with Adelaide. And how could she have rejected him so?

"Neal," Roald joined in, apparently trying to let him down easily, "You fall in and out of love all the time… that's all we're saying. Don't worry there will be someone new next week, and the week after that, or even tomorrow."

Quite stunned, Neal just stared back down at the vegetables on his plate. He still hadn't eaten them. For two seconds he honestly considered what his friends were insinuating. "I don't understand. It's not that often." What were they getting at anyway? It was not as if he fell in love with every girl he met. It was just those special ones. But maybe… was he that… that… that… "Next week! But I'm not that…"

Prosper tapped him hard on the shoulder. "Face it, you're fickle," a distinctly feminine voice sounded behind him. It wasn't Prosper at all…

"Mithros defend us! It's the King's Own squire! When did you get back? And where's your fledgling?" Neal fired off all at once, excited to see his old, sensible friend.

"Eat your vegetables, Neal," she answered as she settled into a seat next to Cleon.

Neal ignored the scolding, unabashed. "We weren't sure you'd ever eat here again!" he continued as voices around the table began their own lines of inquiry.

Neal watched as Kel patiently answered their questions and picked up the conversation. It felt so weird sitting next to his long-absent friend. He had missed talking to her. In fact, she was just the person he had been longing to talk to. She would know just what to do. She could help him solve this. He began to plan out what he would say when the door opened.

A newcomer wearing two floor-length kimonos, one cream-colored silk with orange and yellow maple leaves and the inner one orange, walked into the Dining Hall and onto the dais. She wore a bronze silk obi to secure her kimonos and the brown silk slippers made a swishing sound in the now-silent room. Her ebony hair was parted at the center and combed straight to her waist. Taking the initiative, the vision placed her palms on her thighs and bowed to Lord Wyldon and Sir Inness. Neal watched the scene as if in a dream. He couldn't take his eyes off of the sight that so unexpectedly made him forget Lady Adelaide in a split second. He barely even noticed when Kel left the table to talk with her outside.

Who was this special someone? This someone that made his heart beat a million times a minute? He felt so up, as if no one in the world could wipe the smile off his face. Suddenly the lady turned to the room and bowed. In a daze, Neal was the first to scramble to his feet and bow with that silly grin on his face. When he saw her eyes crinkle, the grin grew even broader to ridiculous proportions. She had to be smiling at him. He just knew it.

Kel came back to the table, her face lit up with joy. Neal paused for a moment before he sprung the question. "So who is she?" he asked nonchalantly. He couldn't stand it any longer. He had to know her name.

Kel pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows as she finished off her plate. "Lady Yukimi. And try not to get too star-struck Neal. Yuki is my friend."

"Star-struck?" Neal chuckled offhand. "Who me?"

After a quiet laugh, Kel only shook her head and stood up. "Will you be around later, Kel?" Cleon asked anxiously.

"No. If my lord lets me out of evening lessons, I'll be visiting the Yamani ladies. I'll see you here tomorrow night, though, if we aren't called out." Neal stared off into space, wishing that Kel would invite them to come along to see the Yamani ladies as well.

"And Neal," Kel advised, "try not to spend too many hours writing poems to Yuki's eyebrow." She paused to let her guidance sink in. "Yamani poetry is very different from ours. I doubt she'd appreciate yours."

But Neal could only sigh, too busy falling in love with the vision of the special lady named Yuki, as the other squires discussed where they might find books of Yamani poetry.

_**To be continued...**_


	2. Peptic Poetry Phthisis

**Author: Christy Anderson**

**Date: November 4, 2002**

**You can contact me at christy1865yahoo.com or leave a review.**

**Author's Note: Okay, so it's been almost five months. I'm toiling at Yugakusee homework here in the basis for the Yamani Islands, and while this was written in June, I erased my disk in August and had no desire to rewrite it until about two weeks ago. I was really depressed. I lost three chapters, including the most important one, and there's no hard copy. But, the point is, I rewrote it, and here it is now. Enjoy! Maybe chapter three will be up sooner.**

**Disclaimer: Tamora Pierce owns them all. More technically, she shares joint custody with her publishers. As I am not included in that circle, I own nothing. Just the plot. :)**

**Chapter 2: Peptic Poetry Phthisis**

A solitary candle situated on the table was burning down to the last marks of the day. On the floor, a rare healer's manual a certain squire should have been studying laid carelessly askew, long abandoned for other cares. Its first chapter was wrinkled from thoughtless activity, pages blowing in the draft that rushed from under the door. Used to enjoying an honored spot on a shelf or long hours of hard study, it now shared company with yesterday's laundry and the dust bunnies from long ago.

Beside the table was an even more puzzling sight. The bed, carelessly thrown together, remained empty- its occupant mysteriously absent. The plain white sheets and flannel blankets were cold to the touch- the squire had not even resided here temporarily this night. While the rest of the castle was draped in the dreams of deep slumber, a flurry of unusual and frantic activity radiated in the air of this particular room.

As the dark clouds rolled away, the moon shone brightly through the window of the squire's rooms, illuminating the figure toiling into the midnight hours at the desk in the corner. Twenty-five candles, nearly one hundred sheets of paper, and exactly twelve quills later, a young man relentlessly pursued his literary goals, desperately recalling all the lessons he had ever received on the subject. Recently returning to the famous verse of old, Neal ardently composed romantic limericks to the vision who had so recently stolen his heart.

_Roses are Red,_

_Violets are Blue,_

_Sugar is Sweet,_

_I'm in a zoo… Let's go canoe… I'll tie your shoe…_

Frustrated and disgusted, an eager hand eagerly crumpled it and added the latest attempt to the mounds of wads that surreally glowed in the moonlight. _I have no utter clue… that rhymes_, he thought bitterly to himself.

It had only been a fortnight since Neal had found his 'true' love, the lady Yukimi. While they had never spoken, he had glimpsed her around the palace and in the courtyard. From the first moment he had seen her, he had determined to write her the poem of a lifetime, but at this rate, he would be a very old man before it occurred.

After two weeks of continual labor, Neal felt that he was no better off than when he had started. More than half of his attempts had been diversions of love poems he had learned as a boy, and his original attempts were no better than the latter. _Practice makes perfect_, a voice called in his head. Neal sighed and resigned himself to picking up yet another sharpened quill. _Yeah, practice makes perfect, so start again…_

_When I saw you,_

_Life wasn't dandy._

_But now you see,_

_I feel like candy… My hair is sandy… Practice ain't handy…_

A second wad of parchment zoomed across the room in no particular direction. Neal put his face in his hands. Where could he even begin to describe the feelings he felt inside his heart? They were so obscure, that even he couldn't explain them to himself. Why was he so sure that he loved her? He had never even met her! Staring at his talent-less writing fingers, Neal felt utterly disappointed. He would never be able to do it- he was not cut out to be a poet. How many times had his own friends told him so? Even the Lady Adelaide had… but he was determined not to think of her.

Now Roald, on the other hand, could compose such beautiful poetry- poetry that moved people inside. While Neal had always felt the pinch of jealously when he had read the young heir's latest pieces, he had to admit that they were exceptional. Why was life so cruel to him? Was it a gene he had missed somewhere?

He could always ask for help. Despite his misgivings, Neal must have considered the idea a million times. With a little bit of direction and guidance, he was sure that he could accomplish a poem that befitted his lovely Yuki, but something inside was preventing him. It was something more vague than even his own feelings.

He thought back to the first day he had seen Yuki, in the Mess Hall, remembering in particular the teasing that had occurred at the table. It had been relatively mild compared to what he had daily endured as a page. What disturbed him in particular was a relative theme that his friends had been hinting at, an overall similarity that someone had put into acutely effective words- words that had cut into him- but something had interrupted their immediacy. Who had said it? Kel, perhaps?

A sudden, abrupt knock shook the door in the early morning hours' silence. Involuntarily, Neal jumped from his seat. What insane soul would be knocking on his door at this hour?

"Neal," Kel's voice came from the other side. "Neal, are you still awake?"

The sound of his good friend's voice unnerved him even more. It had been Kel… _Face it, Neal, you're fickle…_ Shaky, Neal knocked over the porcelain paperweight on the edge of his desk. As it shattered into a few forty pieces, Neal ventured a very tentative, "Yes."

For a small number of moments, utter silence on the other side of the door met his reply. As Neal was beginning to wonder whether he had imagined it all, Kel's impatient voice came from the other side, a little louder and more demanding this time.

"Can I come in?" Kel asked as if her intentions had been completely obvious.

However obvious Kel thought her question was, it took him by surprise. For the first time in a fortnight, Neal took a good look about his palace habitat. Closest to the desk were monumental mounds of paper wads. While Neal had no knack for mathematics, he was sure that their volume might equal that of one of the palace's giant sequoias and that their surface area might pave all the roads in Corus, or at least all the roads in a seven mile radius around the palace. How could he have been so blind to them for the past two weeks? You could barely get around them to go to the bed and the door. Looking at the other side of the room, Neal regretfully noted that it was in no better shape. A fortnight's worth of laundry littered the floor, quite a good deal within itself, and his schoolbooks were scattered like seeds on the wind. Neal felt his heart rise into his throat. What if his knightmaster had seen this mess? It was too painful to even consider.

"Neal are you there?" Kel asked irritably from the hallway.

Now his heart started to pound. What would Kel think if she saw this mess? Or his poetry attempts? She already disagreed with his fascination over Yuki. Panic set in, and Neal immediately set to righting the shameful disarray. "Just a moment," he called softly, as not to awaken his fiery knightmaster in the adjoining room. With incomparable haste, Neal gathered up as many paper wads in his arms as he could and trekked them to the bath. Three loads, however, and the spacious bathtub was overflowing, but Neal continued to stack them on the floor until the whole floor was covered in a flood of them knee-high. Shutting the door, and vowing to do something about it in the morning, Neal commenced to shove the wads into the closet with the meager remnants of his clean wardrobe. Now gathering up garments as well as the hated paper balls, Neal tried to double his pace, especially as he heard what sounded like someone tapping their foot cantankerously outside his door. Precariously stuffing the closet until the door almost wouldn't close, he kicked the meager remainder under his bed and hastily stacked the schoolbooks he found in the corner. With a flourish of grace, Neal leaped across the room and swept the door open, acting as if he had been making his way over the whole time.

As the door swung back to reveal Kel, the tall young girl stepped into the room without instance. Her eyebrows raised suspiciously as she took in Neal's room, but other than that, her Yamani cool kept the emotions masked on her face. "What were you doing in here?"

Neal fumbled for an answer, stumbling over the sounds that were coming from his mouth.

Kel bent over to pick up an object from the floor. Neal went ashen white, certain it was one of his poetry attempts. Holding a book in her hands, Kel looked over to the desk where the candle was still burning. "Neal," she admonished, "did you even go to sleep last night?"

Her question pulled him out of his daze and he relaxed as he realized that Kel had only picked up the healer's manual that Lady Alanna had given him to study. He looked over to where Kel had sat on the bed, staring at him for his reply.

"I was kind of busy…" Neal stammered.

Flipping through the manual, Kel did not seem to notice how nervous he was. "I know how you worry, Neal," she continued, "about those tests the Lioness gives you. I'm sure you'll do fine tomorrow. You learn these things so easily. Certainly it wasn't necessary to stay up all night to study."

This time Kel's words sent him into a different sort of panic. His green eyes filled with horror. "She's going to kill me," he whispered in a choked sort of tone. How could he have forgotten to study for one of Alanna's notoriously grueling tests? Had she reminded him yesterday? Out of the corner of his eye, he could already see the first dreaded gray light of dawn. Where had the evening gone? His mind flipped quickly through solutions, but found only one. Immediately Neal fell to Kel's feet. "You have to help me," he begged with all his heart.

Kel was taken aback. "Neal, I'm sure you'll do fine. You shouldn't panic…"

Neal cut her off. "Please, Kel, anything! I'm going to fail!"

A smile crept over Kel's features. "I know you love dramatics, Neal, but it's a little over the top…"

The older squire grabbed her hands in petition, trying to look serious. "The Lioness won't let me live to complete my Ordeal, Kel…"

"Oh honestly, Neal!" Kel exclaimed. "If you're that worried, I'll ask you a couple of questions." His fellow squire flipped open the book, scanning some of the paragraphs. As her eyes caught on to one particularly interesting, Neal spotted something even more horrendous behind her. In the early rays of dawn, a discarded wad glistened a few feet from the door. There was no way that he could inconspicuously retrieve it. What was he going to do?

"A high fever and green boils indicate the presence of what disease?" Kel's clear voice asked.

Quite frozen-looking across the room, Neal didn't hear her. He was far away in his own thoughts, paralyzed by the possibility that Kel might discover the wad at any moment. Perhaps if he… no that wouldn't work… maybe if… no she would catch on… but what if… definitely not that…

"Neal?" Kel tentatively ventured towards her zoned out friend. She had never seen Queenscove so disconcerted before. She cautiously approached Neal and laid a hand on his arm gently.

Neal snapped out of the trance and he found himself looking into Kel's hazel eyes that were peering at him in askance. "Polka-Dot Frog Complex?" he shot off at once.

An immediate expression of confusion crossed Kel's face. "Polka-what?" she asked in reply.

"Maybe not," Neal amended vicariously. "Amazon Virus? Ivy Poisoning? Sloth Speed Sydrome?"

Still sitting on the bed, Kel continued to stare at him as if he had grown a horn in the middle of his head.

"I.M.A.?" Neal guessed again, only half applying himself. The other half was concentrating on growing telekinetic powers out of his healing Gift. If he could only push the wad into the shadows, then maybe she wouldn't see it on her way out.

"I.M.A.- what's that?" Kel questioned, screwing her eyebrows together in deep concentration. Beneath the apparent confusion, though, her eyes were lit with a touch of concern, as she watched Neal's face grow a pasty white. Was he breathing?

"Immediate Medical Attention," he recited back to her, pulling himself away from the sight of the paper wad. He could see the irritation warring on her features. Without her Yamani mask, she might have rolled her eyes.

"Did you study at all?"

Inside his head, Neal weighed how to reply. The truth would only start an argument, and outside his window, the sun was almost over the horizon. While Kel was an uncommonly early riser, he had perhaps half an hour before his knightmaster would rise. Knowing Alanna, she would be over immediately to test him. How could he shove a whole manual into his mind in less than half a mark? He hadn't even started to read it--- had the paper ball just moved? Keep pushing, he egged himself on. And Alanna had said that the manual was rare, which probably indicated that he had never encountered the material before. "Ask me another question," he begged instead.

True friend to the end, Kel complied and paged through to another chapter. "If an immortal touches this object, it can be used as a medium relief for Scanran winter headaches."

Still working on telekinetic powers, Neal racked the other half of his brain for the answer. He had never heard of anything like that before, had he? Scanran winter headaches- how did you get them? Scanra was really arctic in the winter and really sweltering in the summer. Alanna would know this one- she had spent a great deal of time in Scanransearching for that… that jewel thing that King Jonathan used. "A muffler?" he speculated without much hope. Maybe a hat, something to put on your head…

"Wrong," Kel's voice rang out loudly.

Neal winced at the volume of her voice. "Kel, you'll wake Lady Alanna…"

Nevertheless, the normally mellow Kel didn't seem to be listening at all as she rattled off another question instantaneously. "How do you treat Carthakian Dengue Fever?"

Flabbergasted, Neal's eyes could only grow wide. What the hell was that?

"Which end of Scanran Thistleweed is used for a dietary supplement, and which end is fatal to people with what complex?"

_ Great, I could kill somebody if I get this wrong… _Neal thought to himself, continuing to sit motionless, the test and rejected poetry contesting for the attention of his mind. Either way, he was going to die.

"The growth of extra-sensory hearing might be the cause of what fatal viral attack?"

Batty Syndrome? Vampire Cooties?

"Treating someone with multiple fractures to the vertebrae often involves the use of what specialized aspect of the Gift?"

Still stunned in silence, eyes locked on some spot on the wall behind her, Neal had never more resembled a frightened deer. Kel slammed the book to get his attention. "I don't believe that you've studied at all. This is completely unlike you, Neal… And what are you staring at?" Just as he had feared, Kel fatedly turned around and caught sight of it, conspicuously sitting on the floor, unmoved despite his peripheral attempts at telekinesis. "What is this?" she muttered inaudibly.

In desperation, Neal tried to snatch it from her before she could get a good grip, but Kel deftly whipped it out of his reach.

"_I love you Yuki,_

_You make me coo key,_

_And kind of loopy,_

_You're really groovy._"

The sound of the discordant words hung in the midst of the sea of tension that accompanied their reading. As they softly faded away, the stress only grew worse. Kel's face became unreadable, a Yamani enigma before him, even though he had known her for many years. Neal could not manage to imagine what she might be thinking. They stared at each other for many moments, no one daring to make the first move. Suddenly flinching from the eeriness of it all, Neal's reflexive motion seemed to spur Kel into action.

"Neal, I thought… I mean, I said… that Yuki is my…"

"I heard my name?" A cheerful face popped her head around the corner. Ebony hair framing her face and falling closely about her ears, a stray strand near her eye, she seemed the most beautiful person in the world to Neal.

Kel started, as Neal made a move to the door. The sudden apparition of the one he was so besotted over enchanted him. "I- I'm Neal," he stuttered. "Squire Nealan of Queenscove, at your service," he offered, with a sweeping bow that he secretly hoped would impress her.

The corners of Yukimi's mouth twitched, the Yamani way of showing amusement. "Pleased to meet you," she replied. "My name is Yukimi, Lady in Waiting to Princess Shinko."

Neal took one of her hands and kissed it. "It's an honor." The twitching of Yuki's mouth grew more involuntary and she donned her fan in front of her face to hide it, but Neal could still see the twinkle in her eyes. "Can I be of service?" Neal asked in a gentlemanly way.

The lady in his doorway seemed to blush. "I was looking for Squire Keladry of Mindelan," she answered.

"She's… she's… she's in here," Neal stammered, volunteering her an arm to come inside, his attention focused only on her.

Yuki took a tentative step inside the room, wearing a white top and a scarlet hakama, most of the longer pieces of her hair swept up in a bun. "I know; I could hear her voice."

While Neal was still drooling, Kel took one look at Yuki and had a completely different reaction.

"I'm late!" she exclaimed. "Oh, Yuki, I'm so sorry… we should have started practice half a mark ago."

Yuki simply nodded her head.

Kel gave a rare smile. "I got sidetracked," she disclosed, pointing a noticeable finger towards Neal's direction.

As Neal offered a sound of protest, Yuki pointed to the crumpled parchment in Kel's hand. "_Sore wa nan desu ka._ What is that?"

Eyes flashing void of emotion, Kel re-crumpled the paper. "Nothing," she replied confidently, giving Neal a knowing look.

Across the room, an adjoining door swung open, and a very tired looking, but angry Alanna entered Neal's quarters. "What is all the racket?" the King's Champion asked, suppressing a yawn. As the sleepy figure plodded towards her miscreant squire, she snapped to attention at the sight of Yukimi and Kel.

Diplomatic as always before her idol, Kel gave a slight bow. "I'm sorry we disturbed your slumber, Lioness. Yuki and I were on the verge of leaving."

The anger in Alanna's eyes dulled. "You better be on your way. Since I'm up, I believe that my squire has a test to complete."

Neal visibly sagged to the floor, a puddle of despondency. Satisfied, Kel nodded and exited Neal's room, throwing a silent "Good luck, Mithros bless!" over her shoulder to her friend.

Yuki still stood reluctantly in the doorway, her eyes gleaming. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Squire Queenscove. I hope we get time to talk later." She leaned closer, and Neal thought and secretly hoped that she was going to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Did you know that your room is a shambles?" a hiss came in his ear. Neal started away and caught sight of the papers spilling out of the bath door, which had fallen ajar. From the sound of agitation behind him, Alanna had caught sight of it as well. Grinning a goofy grin, however, Neal couldn't care less if Alanna hung him on the spot or halfway through the first question of his test. At least Yuki had noticed his messy room.

_**To be continued...**_


	3. Midwinter Magic

**Author: Christy Anderson**

**Date: July 5, 2004**

**You can contact me at kittyunlimitedgo.com or leave a review.**

**Author's Note: Now that multiple years have passed, I've decided to brush my own dustbunnies off of this story and hit the midnight oil like Neal. I feel like I really identify with his literary ailments, with none of his dramatic flair to make my story interesting; writer's block is definitely something hard to overcome. Fortunately Neal provides wonderful material to work with. Well, I've reworked some of the old magic on this chapter that I hope will make the storyline more coherent. Here's to the Neals of the world.**

**Disclaimer: Tamora Pierce owns them all. More technically, she shares joint custody with her publishers. As I am not included in that circle, I own nothing. Just the plot. :)**

**Chapter 3: Midwinter Magic**

The lights of the Book Room cast soft shadows on the discussion group across the room where Neal sat in bewilderment. The taciturn couple of the Midwinter Feast were now transformed- enthusiastically debating over Yamani battle tactics, the frozen awkwardness thawed by the more congenial atmosphere. Head to head with Raoul, Commander of the King's Own, Princess Shinkokami avidly devoured the exchange of stories and experience at hand.

Shadowed in the corner, separate from the group, Neal watched, mesmerized by Yuki's composure as she related ancient Yamani defense tactics to Raoul and Kel, who sat beside Buri, Commander of Queen Thayet's Riders. "Our walls are built tall and steep," Yuki continued, "but at a slant, not upright like yours."

Princess Shinko nodded. "This way the walls can be used for a multitude of purposes and not solely defense."

Across from her Raoul raised his eyebrows, as if Princess Shinko's response was a sort of confirmation to what he thought. "I've heard stories that could chill a stormwing's spine about defense counterattacks of sieges of Yamani castles." He paused a moment to gauge the reaction of the Yamani guests around him.

Princess Shinko did not seem offended. "It's true that some of our tactics can seem a trifle brutal. In the event of a siege, we pour hot oil down our walls to wash out the attack. The rock the walls are made of are cut by hand and fitted precisely, smooth to allow no footholds."

"They are practically incapable of being scaled," Yuki chimed in, speaking more freely after her mistress's example.

Raoul sighed. "The grounds around the palace are too unstable to build any higher. Vertical walls, however, are hard to scale when they are supplied with archers."

From Raoul's left side, Buri nodded her head in agreement. "It's hard work, though, to keep the archers armed and firing. You need to plan frontal assaults and distractions to break up the enemy if the attack lasts too long."

"If such an assault ever got as far as Corus," Prince Roald broke in. "We have set up a good defense around our borders. There would be a great deal of battling before the enemy was on our front step."

The debate continued, searching for a successful hypothetical advance against Corus and ways to counterattack. Every now and then, Princess Shinko, Yuki, or Haname would add in helpful suggestions.

Neal continued to rest in the corner, taken by a glowing Yuki. For someone so delicate looking, she surprisingly knew her way around tactics deftly. After Kel's stories about her experiences in the Yamani Isles, Neal knew that he should have expected it, but it was amazing to witness the scene firsthand.

"Neal," Raoul called from across the room, "quit your brooding and come over here. Why, you've barely said a word this evening."

Interrupted in his thoughts, Neal felt his face redden as he stepped out of the shadows and into the light cast by the fire and the candles all around. On his face he could feel the weight of all the eyes in the room, waiting anxiously for him to respond. "You all were doing such a fine job that I had little to add," he amended to cast off the suspicion that assailed him, mumbling and staring down at his feet, as he made his way towards Raoul.

"Had little to add or struck speechless by the awesome display of brains and beauty before us? Eh, Neal?" Prosper joked.

The group chuckled, especially those who knew the squire well. Neal almost choked, and his flush ran up to his ears, deepening five shades of red, as he came under Yuki's scrutinizing gaze.

With a faint smile, Yuki indicated the empty seat next to her. "You can sit here, Squire Neal," she offered.

Neal bowed his head in gratitude and tried not to turn pink at this most fortuitous turn of events, even while the heat burned more intensely in his cheeks.

"He's too humble," Roald chipped in with a deliberate tone, exchanging a knowing glance with Neal. His voice, assured and calculated, drew some of the unwanted and uncomfortable attention off of Neal. "Next to Kel's heroic and decisive action," Roald continued, reminding the group of why they had met in the first place, "Neal's use of magic helped in the skirmish. I am sure Kel would love to tell the story."

Immediately Princess Shinko's eyes lit up. "Kel," she pleaded, "I would love to hear about the skirmish firsthand from you."

As Kel began to relate the story of the past summer, Neal felt the tension inside of him loosen now that his absence of attention was soon forgotten and he had been assimilated into the group with no further incident. Across the table, Neal caught Roald's glance and mouthed a silent thank you. The discussion continued on into the night and by the next candle mark, the group began to splinter apart. Looking around him, Neal was surprised to find himself only in the company of the familiar study group he had taken part in as a page. Raoul and Buri had long left to retire, and the happily acquainted Prince Roald and Princess Shinko had moved on to other entertainment for the evening. Kel and Merric still combated over the recent political strains with Scanra and the puzzling fewer clashes on the border. Prosper strove to mediate the debate, and, on Kel's right, Cleon vied for her attention.

A shift on the cushions beside him startled Neal from the action across the room, reminding him of the remaining person beside him, Yuki. Turning to face her, Neal unexpectedly found himself disconcertingly near and lost in a pair of deep brown eyes. Just as abruptly, Neal felt his insides turn to mush and his ability to articulate utterly escaped him. "Um… um… uh…"

The corners of Yuki's mouth twitched, and, ducking her face behind her hand, she extracted her fan to quickly hide behind. Yet even with brief relief from her mesmerizing eyes, Neal continued to mumble unintelligibly, searching for words that skillfully eluded him.

"Yes?" Yuki prodded kindly, her tone melodious and lilting.

Neal felt the red rise in his cheeks, knowing that he might as well be slobbering for all of his taciturn embarrassment, but despite his ardent wishes, he could not manage anything comprehensible with the skipping beats of his heart. "Uh…"

The mischievous twinkle in Yuki's eyes brightened. "Yes?" she asked again, this time more softly.

Neal blinked again and made a Herculean effort to steel his will. "Do… Did… did… you enjoy… your…yourself?" he spit out at last.

Yuki's outer comportment seemed to warm. "I have never had the opportunity for such discussion as tonight."

Slightly befuddled, Neal's eyes clouded. "You spoke so well on the subject. How do women learn such things then in the Yamani Isles?"

A long pause fell soon after Neal's words faded away in the air. While her face was serene as a lake, he was almost certain he discerned a troubled expression. "While we are excluded from the conversation of such things, Squire Neal," Yuki finally answered at last, "we are not directly forbidden from listening." She cocked her head slightly to the left as if to better gauge his reaction. After a considerable amount of time, she added, "Those who wish to learn will listen and learn for themselves."

Inside, Neal felt a curious feeling rise up inside of him and he was strangely torn. Tonight, Yuki had commanded a challenging knowledge of strategy. It seemed a crime that such a determined and apt person should be denied anything she desired. "While you are here," Neal suggested, "you should be certain to take advantage of the professors here at the palace. They would be pleased to have such an avid pupil. If you would like, I could speak with Lord Raoul, or maybe the King on your behalf." Looking up at her, Neal could tell Yuki was grateful.

"I thank you sincerely for your interest, Squire Neal," Yuki responded with a slight smile that was generous beyond Yamani standards.

"Neal," he corrected instantaneously, slightly dizzy from her smile, "just Neal."

Yuki donned her fan and nodded. Silence fell, and they both stared down at their feet, the wheels of their minds, working to find words.

A pair of thudding feet, echoed down the outside hallway and into the room. At the door, a red-faced young man clung to the wall, heaving for breath. "Neal," he called into the room before he gasped again. "You're missing all of the fun, you sourpuss! I thought I had the understanding that you were under obligation to make an appearance tonight."

Parted momentarily from his courting, memories of unattended mage party and his knightmaster struck sharp, dissident chords. Frightened out of his wits, Neal leapt to his feet, his green eyes hollowed out with fear. "Lady Alanna is going to kill me!" he screeched.

Kel, distracted from her conversation, laughed with amusement at his horror. "When isn't she, when she has such a Meathead like you for a squire?"

After the sound of more stomping feet, a second face popped out from behind the first. "Don't wooory," he slurred, "Numair is just gooina pull out the flame poppers… and weee'eerr ready to rumble." The boy gripped the doorway tighter as he made an even more precarious swing.

The first boy grew impatient. "So are you coming?" he asked.

Neal turned back to Yuki. "I offer my sincerest apologies, my lady," he said in a gentlemanly and contrite way, "but I did promise my knight master that I would put in an appearance at Numair's mage party. Perhaps it's time to retire? I would enjoy the pleasure of escorting you to your door, with your permission."

"Magic?" Yuki asked animatedly.

Inquisitively, Neal nodded his head. "If you desire, I would feel unequally blest this Midwinter if I had the honor of escorting such a beautiful lady to the party tonight."

Yuki blushed slightly crimson before she could reach for her fan once again. Her eyes sparkled with excitement and adventure.

"Neal," Kel's flat warning sounded before her friend could respond, "Yuki's not fit for that company of miscreants in the tower. They must be so drunk by now that she could be turned into a frog… or worse."

A side glance at Yuki proved her to be no more fearful at Kel's words. "Now, now, Mother Hen," Neal patronized, "I'll be sure to protect Lady Yukimi with a wary guard all evening and to return her safely home, on time and intact." He turned to the vision beside him and bowed before her, feeling a giddy bubble of unsurpassed joy rise up inside of himself as he extended his arm for her. "Shall we?"

At her nod, the two whisked away from the Book Room, never noticing the daggers Kel aimed at their backs.

Inside the tower of Numair Salamin's abode, the Midwinter party was in chaos. The antechamber was filled with tables of food, delights, and refreshments, liberal and otherwise. It was equally dusted with magical creatures that could have only belonged to Daine. Dancing flowers boogied in their pots and a wolf sat docilely in one corner. A basilisk chatted amiably nearby and a flock of sparrows roosted at the perch set beside the widow. Kitten, when she was not barbequing food, intimidated the guests with the sheer size she had grown to.

In the adjoining room, the party was at full swing, with hundreds of guests milling about, some young, mostly old. Neal even blinked twice when he thought he saw a senior healer get his groove on and disco and another shaking under the limbo pole. It was truly a night for crazy festivities and celebration.

Numair had outdone himself with his magical Midwinter decorations. A clear starry night lit up the ceiling, animated with shooting stars and things Numair called comets and meteors. Snow that never seemed to melt or accumulate on the floor fell through the air, adding a distinctive chill. The walls were disguised as deeper than they actually were, with a desert scene stretching before them, the coast on the North, and Corus to the West. Wisps of mist hung about the floor, and from a corner, an orchestra of instruments expertly performed the current and popular minstrel tunes of the year.

All around, everyone was singing and dancing, talking loudly in small groups. Occasionally, from different parts of the room, a stray spark of the Gift would shoot out or even a random explosion. Slowly cramming their way into the center of the room, Yuki stared enchantedly at the scene around her as Neal tried in vain to search for the host and hostess. To their right, the crowd parted as an imposing Numair and a petite Daine came through. "Queenscove!" Numair called out, his voice magically carrying to Neal's. "You finally made it."

Neal grimaced. "Numair," he greeted in return.

"Good Evening, Squire Neal," his old crush greeted. "Mithros bless this Midwinter. It was nice of you to come," she shouted over the noise. Neal smiled as he realized that the sound of Daine's voice no longer made him crazy.

"Lady Alanna was mighty worried that her skulking squire would hole up all winter. She will be glad you came. I see, though, that you've found a new object for your attentions." He bowed formally to Yuki. "Master Numair Salamin, at your service."

Neal muttered something under his breath as another man materialized from the crowd. "Glad to see you son," Duke Baird interjected, tilting a glass at Neal.

"You too, father," Neal yelled back over the loud commotion that had abruptly erupted from the anteroom. Numair and Daine both disappeared instantly in the direction of the noise as suddenly as they had come, expressions of concern on their faces. "Father," Neal continued, "I would like to introduce you to someone." He turned and motioned to Yuki, "Duke Baird of Queenscove, Yukimi, Waiting Lady to Princess Shinkokami. Yuki, my father, also Chief Healer."

Duke Baird smiled down at Yuki. "Pleased to meet you," he greeted as he bowed. Another explosion came from the anteroom accompanied by sounds of greater commotion. He strained around worriedly to find the source of the commotion, but turned back just as troubled. "Now, if you both will excuse me, I think I'll go and see if Numair needs my assistance. Mithros bless."

"Mithros bless," Neal replied as his father merged back into the droves of celebration. With a grin, he turned back to Yuki at his side. "So, do you like the party? Do you require something to eat?"

Yuki shook her head. "The party is wonderful," she exclaimed, "if not a bit too noisy," her hint not too subtle.

Neal nodded in agreement. "Shall we go out onto the balcony?"

He gently guided her to the South wall, and stuck his hand out for the familiar knob that would still be there despite all of the magicking. No matter how many times Neal had heatedly been sent by Alanna for lessons from Numair in this tower, however, his hands still fumbled as he searched for the door he was certain would be there. The magic too strong to dispel, his hand fell on a gilded knob after a brief but embarrassing old-fashioned search. The door swung open before them to a breathtaking scene of the sleeping city of Corus, one that even rivaled Numair's fancy and difficult magics.

Yuki sighed as she took a tentative step out onto the delicate and tiny balcony as Neal inconspicuously shut the door behind him. "This is Corus?" she asked softly, her eyes darting about her to take it all in.

Neal inclined his head as if to study it better. "Sure is… it figures that Numair would get the most breathtaking view of the Kingdom. It must be what keeps him here, not to mention Daine." He came up and joined Yuki at the rail, using it to brace his balance as he attempted to look farther out.

"I wish I could stay here forever." The sentence rang out clear, filled with hope and longing, telling more than he could see on her Yamani-blank face.

"Are you not?" he asked, instantly alarmed.

Yuki shook her head sadly. "I came to accompany Princess Shinko while she goes on Progress and to help her during her wedding. Once she has no need for me, I will be sent back to serve the emperor."

Neal felt objections bubbling over inside him, but he silenced them when he felt the anguish and melancholy in her voice. "You would not want to abandon your family, though. There must be some good in returning."

Yuki drew her gaze away from the buildings of the city sprawling before them. "What I have found here in Corus will be hard to relinquish shall I be…"

Neal met her eyes… dark brown, endless as the night, embodying more than any of the things he had ever read about in poetry. It was as if she saw right through him, no, no, into him, seeing him as he was.

"forced…"

Two brown eyes, one face pale as the moon, ebony hair swept elegantly back, and a kindred soul of an adventurous and precious individual were all that existed before him. For the second time that night, his insides turned to mush, his spine congealed into jello, and his ability to think and process yielded to the swelling of his heart.

"to…"

Neal could hear the blood rushing in his ears and the pounding of his heart that seemed to make the ground shake with it. Forces like magic filled the air between them, overwhelming him and drawing them together under the stars. Overtaken and defeated, Neal slowly closed his eyes.

"…leave," Yuki barely finished as they were drawn into a kiss and time seemed for a magical moment to stop.

The spell was broken as quickly as it had been invoked, leaving Neal reeling, his world spinning around him with the emotions that threatened to consume his system. Yuki ducked away, and an awkward and confusing silence rushed to fill where her presence had been.

Neal looked out to the stars from the opposite side of the balcony, the moment fresh in his mind. Inwardly he kicked himself for being foolish. Whatever friendship had been blooming between them was now certainly crushed with his preemptive kiss.

"Neal," Yuki called unexpectedly.

Neal's heart soared as from the other end of the balcony Yuki motioned him over as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, and at the same instant, she blotted out their mutual embarrassment. "What is that?" she asked, pointing towards the silent explosions of color in the Eastern sky.

"Flame poppers," Neal answered dutifully. "Numair makes them."

She sighed. "Is it magic?"

Neal laughed. "No, it's not, although it seems like it is." As he came up beside her, he looked equally in awe at the display Numair had created. Explosions of green, teal, yellow, and gold flitted across the sky. A blue explosion took on the form of a magnificent dragon before it dissipated, and a subsequent red one drew a mighty red griffon. His attention was called from the sky as a tiny imperceptible weight on his arm grew heavier. Neal caught his breath as he realized that Yuki was leaning somewhat against him.

"Kel says that you are some kind of a mage." Her voice broke through the sounds of the night to spur conversation on again.

Neal shook his head. "Mostly, I am a healer," he amended, "It's what my Gift is best suited for."

Yuki inclined her eyebrows, quite liberally for a Yamani. "But you study to be a knight, do you not? You are not studying to be healer."

Neal shook his head. "Yes, and no. Years ago, I attended the collegium, where I studied healing, but I left." Neal was surprised at the slightly embittered tone in his own voice.

The head that had blissfully come to rest on his shoulder drew up to meet his eyes. "Why?" she asked simply.

Dwelling back on the past Neal shrugged. "I did not want to follow in my father's footsteps, I suppose. Studying at the collegium did not fit me- it was dull, stifling. The professors there were rotting; I felt worn down. I came once with my father to visit the palace and Corus. My brothers had studied to be knights, and before, I was not able to see why they enjoyed it so much. Coming here was like coming alive with all the fun and excitement. I wanted nothing more than to become a page, and study to be a knight…" he paused and gave a goofy grin, "so I could have all sorts of romantic adventures."

Yuki's head shot up. "Do you make light at the job of a knight? Do you enjoy the idea of slaughtering hundreds of people at the king's command? Do you prefer massacring people than healing them?" She backed away from him in disgust.

Neal's face went aghast. Inwardly he cursed his wayward tongue. "No, no… I was only… I mean that it's not like that at all. I still study healing under Lady Alanna, and I enjoy healing other people." The words came out in a rush to appease her. "I wanted to become a knight because they take action to protect other people. They are not trapped all day in a hospital. Killing and slaughtering are not all there is to riding as a knight."

Yuki's posture loosened, her face softening, and with it, Neal let out the air he had been holding in, recovering from mild suffocation. Making a mental note to keep in check his off-color, lighthearted humor, he let his thoughts wander a little more freely. "Did you know that as a knight we take a vow to protect people: the young, the old, the innocent, men, and women? We recite the vow when we first enter study as a page, at our Ordeal, and at our knighting. I think knighthood is the most noble of occupations." He gave Yuki a wink. "I feel completed knowing that I am helping all sorts of oppressed people and rescuing hapless damsels in distress…"

All the warmth suddenly vanished, as if by magic, from the night air, and Yuki drew herself up to her full height, taken quite aback. Realizing what he had just said, Neal wished with every iota he possessed that he had cut out his tongue like he had vowed years ago. Words of apology rose in his throat, but were not said before Yuki began her part. "What you really meant is that knighthood nurses your inflated ego! Is that what you think of all women, Squire Nealan of Queenscove?" she accused, hardening her glare. "Do you believe that we lead ourselves into impossible situations, fall into trouble, and need rescuing and defense? That we are helpless?"

Neal cursed his luck as he backed against the rail in abject dismay. "No… no…" he stuttered. "I only meant… It is just that of the two sexes… no, I mean, I mean that it's always been written that the traditional job of a knight… I mean, we have been men for so long… and women…" Wishing he was somewhere much farther away, he could tell that the further opening of his mouth only made the situation worse.

Yuki cut off his babbling. "It has always been a traditional job of a knight to what, Squire Nealan of Queenscove?" she jabbed. "Protect the weaker sex?"

His cheeks reddened as the blood rushed up to his face, this time in anger. Why was she attacking him like this anyway? Narrowing his eyes, Neal couldn't believe the scene before him, couldn't understand what he had done or said wrong to merit this kind of persecution. He had only been joking. At least his anger was able to clear his head of all the lovey fluff so he could articulate effectively. "You are putting words into my mouth, Lady Yukimi. I did not say that at all!" He hoped that throwing back formal titles would somehow annoy or disarm her.

Yuki's Yamani masked strained as her lips tightened into thin lines. "You clearly meant it. We do not all need your assistance, Squire Nealan of Queenscove! After all, Kel seemed adequately adept at saving your lives last summer."

"Posh!" Neal exclaimed, affronted that she would throw that in his face, "Kel is quite different…"

"Is Kel not a woman?" Yuki interrupted. "I think you would be surprised to find that there are many women such as Kel who could trounce you in a match."

Neal could only nod. "Of course not… I mean, of course she is. If you would only calm down…"

"Don't patronize me!" Yuki ordered. "I could beat you any day in a match!"

This time, Neal could no longer grin and bear her diatribe. He was stunned by her pretentious supposition. The color deepened in his cheeks as he felt the anger rise further and his blood boil. "You could not," he challenged back, insulted.

"I could," Yuki insisted softly, her tone tense, deadly. "If you dare, I challenge you to a duel."

Tickled by her attempt, Neal tried hard not to sneer, the kiss and his flowery feelings and notions of gentlemanliness far from his consciousness. He felt blindly angered that Yuki would take such an offhanded comment to such dire extremes. Caught up in his self-perpetuating anger, he accepted. "Fine, then! Have it your way! We'll duel in the practice yard."

"At daybreak," she answered evenly, no sign of any notion to back out.

Neal nodded, his gaze set like steel.

Satisfied, Yuki gave a curt nod of dismissal and turned towards the door, putting her hand on the knob.

"No!" Neal shouted, instantly contrite.

She turned back towards him. "Whatever is the matter, Squire Neal? Having second thoughts?"

Affronted, he backed a step away. "I never back down on my word… but, as I promised Squire Keladry, I thought it would be improper to recline from escorting you back to the residence halls of the palace."

Cool and condescendingly, Yuki turned full around and bowed from the waist, pulling up proud and strong, strikingly attractive in her kimono of burgundy silk embroidered with gold, her hair swept back in a bun held with chopsticks, and a fan tucked almost inconspicuously at her side. "I thank you, Squire of Queenscove for your magnanimous invitation tonight, but I do not require your services as escort. I shall manage efficiently in returning by myself. Until the morning." The door closed sullenly behind her.

Neal collapsed on the outside wall of the palace, marginally resisting the urge to scream, and he banged his head against it twice. _So this was a Scanran winter headache._ "I'm such an idiot!"

_**To be continued...**_


	4. If You Can't Take the Heat

**Author: Christy Anderson**

**Date: May 23, 2003**

**You can contact me at kittyunlimitedgo.com or leave a review.**

**Author's Note: I thought this chapter would be the hardest part of the chapter to write, but it was definitely the most amusing and surprisingly natural style I've used in a while. I couldn't believe that I wrote so much so fast. Let the trouncing begin!**

**Disclaimer: Tamora Pierce owns them all. After all, if I told you they were mine, would you believe me?**

**Chapter 4: If You Can't Take the Heat...**

The gray of dawn set upon Neal early as he grudgingly sat up out of bed. Regret filled him as he dressed, tripling progressively as he recalled the events of the previous night. Scrubbing his face harder than he ordinarily would have, Neal finished washing and looked up in disgust at his reflection in the mirror above the washstand. Two clear green eyes stared back at him from a grown-up face that he hadn't studied in quite a while, but even his reflection gave no insight into the questions that burdened his heart.

Reluctantly, Neal picked up his choice of weapons: a short sword and an unusual longer sword emblazoned with the Queenscove crest that had been a gift from his father when he had begun his studies as a page. He touched his two daggers, a long sword, and his special battle sword that sported a sturdy blade and was surprisingly light to yield, but he left them spread out on his bed- Yuki was no danger. He would have preferred to have taken only the short sword than fight her at all, but he felt too afraid that the absence of a second weapon would somehow offend her.

As an afterthought, Neal slipped on a shirt of chain mail and collected his helmet and a pair of worn gauntlets, holding them in the small of his arm. As he shut the doors of his quarters behind him, his eyes fell on the single wad of discarded homework on his desk. With a faint smile on his lips and thoughts on his first encounter with Yuki, Neal turned the key in the lock, with one question blazing in his conscience… if he prided himself so much on his chivalry, how could he even bare the thought of clashing his sword to Yuki's? Yet, his will bonded to the task ahead of him.

It was eerie, Neal thought, of how his footsteps clashed and echoed down the deserted hallway, ringing pompously back in his own ears. The hollow sound they made reflected the strangely empty feeling of the castle; of course, after the night's celebrations, no soul would be about before midday, except him… and Yuki… and their thrice-cursed argument. Neal could not help but experience a feeling of puzzlement as he wondered how it had all come about. One minute they had chatted amiably as friends, another kissed as lovers, and the last parted heatedly as bitter enemies, but where the steps came in, the map from points A to G and finally Z, was more than a tad hazy.

By the time he reached the practice yards, however, Neal felt his steel will of a moment ago crumbling into unresolve. The challenge had been a foolish idea, fueled by the heat of the moment and not the product of rational discussion. A thousand gentlemanly apologies poised on the tip of his tongue, waiting to gush forth at Yuki's arrival. Pacing the length of the wooden room like an anxious horse, Neal felt beads of nervous sweat fall down his face even as the chill wind chapped his cheeks through the cracks in the boards.

Finally, as he had presently begun to doubt whether he had imagined the entire scenario, a swirl of blustery winter wind rushed into the room, accompanying a delicate figure. Despite her small frame, however, Neal felt his jaw drop, as Yuki struggled to bolt the door, flauntingly clad without any armor and armed only with a long pointed staff called a glaive. Turning around expectantly to face him, she expressionlessly took in his overdressed appearance, but Neal caught the sparkle of mischief in her eyes before it died away.

"I did not request a duel to the death, Squire Nealan," Yuki commented to his surprise, looking very self-satisfied in a curious Yamani way. Pausing a moment to catch his response, Yuki made her way to the other side of the wooden hall when he inevitably continued to stare stupidly at the absence of her protective attire. Her footsteps clicked crisply behind him, stopping short of ten paces from the back wall, and the sounds of shuffling activity on the smooth floorboards caused him to finally turn around in surprise.

Watching Yuki begin to stretch and warm up, Neal felt his weakened, brittle will snap, allowing the guilt and remorse that had built up behind the dam to gush freely down upon him. "I… I can't do this… I… I apologize, but this is… something I can… can't…"

Across the way, Yuki's glaive continued to soar effortlessly through the air, a graceful instrument playing its fatal music for the ears of an imaginary doomed opponent, a dancing vision enchanting its victim to swift death. Thrusting, twirling, and fainting Yuki moved fluently through her exercises in a complex Yamani battle dance.

"I don't know what I wa… was thinking when I a… agreed… to this," Neal continued, stupidly stuttering over the thousands of reasons he could not fight. Glancing up from the stain on the floor that he had fixated his glance upon, Neal watched Yuki attack, dive, and defend against a blow that perceivably would have looked easy to deal to her shoulder. Neal bit his lip and tried again. "This simply isn't right," he ventured more strongly than before. "We hardly knew what we were saying last night anyway. I never meant any harm, honestly. It was all in good fun." Ashamed, his head fell again to stare at his big, stupid-looking feet. _That's what they are_, Neal thought to himself, _a reflection of my big, stupid self._

The thrust of a heavy object into his arms knocked his attention off of the floor as much as it knocked out his wind. Standing three feet from him, Yuki frighteningly had her glaive fixed upon his throat in a challenging stance. Neal looked down at his long sword that he had propped against the wall when he had entered the room, tightening his fingers around the hilt as he fought against the protesting pain in his gut. Still smarting from her toss, it twisted as Neal deliberated with his warring emotions. "I can't fight you, Yuki," he finally whispered to the vision who no matter how temperamental, amusing, or enchanting she was would forever hold his heart.

Not ever deterred, Yuki disregardingly thrust the middle of her glaive to contact with Neal's side. Blinking in surprise, Neal took a step back, stunned that she would hit a surrendered man and knowing that it could have been harder. Quick as ever, Yuki swung her glaive again, but this time Neal was not caught off-guard and moved swiftly to block it. Locked weapon against weapon, Neal brought his face down to look into Yuki's. "Didn't you hear me?" Neal asked incredulously. "I don't want to fight you. I give up."

Yuki cocked her head to the side. "You have not even begun to try, Squire Neal," she replied, pulling her weapon back out the lock and ducking to hit low.

Surprised, Neal fell forward with the sudden absence of force, falling right over the glaive that was perfectly poised at his knees. Tumbling, Neal landed on his shoulder gently and flipped around back to his feet, his sword up defensively to defend against any blows he couldn't have seen coming.

Yuki was ready for him, swinging her glaive to the left and to the right, forcing Neal to at least block them or risk injury. Steel clashed against wood again and again as Yuki dealt blows and feinted to the side. Realizing she was setting up an assault to his unprotected abdomen, Neal dipped his sword closer to her face and caught the inside of her glaive, jerking it quickly to the side to knock her off balance before she took advantage of his precarious position.

For a moment, Yuki's left arm was jerked off the glaive by Neal's ploy and her foot fell back to keep her a-balance. As she took the time to readjust her grip, Neal risked some fast-talking. "If it's a victory you want, Yuki, you can have it. I give up! I surrender! Women are stronger. Women win." He felt the heat rising in his cheeks, inexplicable emotions and thoughts flooding him at her unpredictable behavior. The blood coursed through his veins at a dizzy pace, but whether it was from anger, activity, or anticipation, Neal couldn't tell.

Raising her glaive in attack once again, she shook her head. "I do not want a victory, Neal, just a fight."

"I can't fight you!" Neal almost screamed as he blocked a blow to his chest.

"Why? Why am I not your equal?" Yuki challenged as she aggressively brought her glaive down upon Neal's right shoulder.

For the first time that morning, the sound of metal clashing against metal rang out shrilly through the winter air as the blade of Yuki's glaive contacted with his shirt of chain mail. Neal barely had time to wince at the force of the blow before he was demanded to straighten his sword out in defense again. "Because it's not honorable," he spit out between his teeth that gritted at the numb tingling that spread through the nerves in his right arm.

"Why?" Yuki shouted. Her glaive came down at an awkward angle destined for his arms. "Why isn't it honorable?"

Instinctively, Neal's training reacted just in time, striking her glaive between where her hands were gripped, straightened, and braced for what she presumed would be a successful blow. Instead the glaive bowed in under the force of Neal's counterattack, jarring his opponent's wrists in a painful way that was all too familiar to the squire from Wyldon's one-on-one workouts. However, Yuki's rigid stance could not absorb the blow and threw her backwards, landing ungracefully and unceremoniously on her back.

Without so much as a yelp of pain as she slid on the floor before whacking her head, Yuki stood up uneasily, her mouth tightened into a thin line. Before Neal could rush over to see if she was all right though, Yuki had shook her fall off and more carefully resumed a defensive stance. "Do you think I need rescuing, Squire Nealan?" she asked as she caught his tentative move towards her. "Like all women, I am hapless… is that why you refuse to fight me?"

Neal felt his cheeks go bright red as she brought up the accusation for the second time in 24 hours. "No," he replied as calmly as he could, biting back the multitudinous retorts that came to mind. "What I said last night was meant to be innocuous. I meant no harm to you or your honor."

"Then why?" she shot back as she move towards him, her carefully concealed frustration leaking out in the new barrage of attacks she led against him. "Why is this dishonorable? You fight Kel."

Neal felt the muscles of his arms beginning to weakly protest under the heightened exertion. His breathing deepened but steadied, and he worked harder to control his emotions and defend against her assault rather than attacking. "Kel's different," Neal answered. "She opted against a life of luxury and maidenly concerns to pursue her interests in knighthood."

Instantly the anger slightly contorting Yuki's face changed into an odd self-satisfied look, a look of superiority, a look of someone who had foreseen the outcome and knew that they would win. "On guard, Squire Nealan," she called out, less forceful and more amused this time. "I too have chosen this."

Neal watched in stunned awe as Yuki's technique changed before his eyes. Her attack became more certain, more fluid, more lethal. Using her glaive more like a staff than a sword with her grip spaced further a part, she knocked his defenses helter-skelter, jarring his sword out of position or more frequently, his arms. Instead of reacting instinctively, Neal had to concentrate his thoughts on her motions, train his sword with her staff. After a couple of near misses as Yuki moved into a closer range, Neal felt uncomfortably cramped and stepped back, giving up ground.

Yuki moved with him, herding him back into a corner, as his mere defenses were not proficient enough to stop her advance. Increasingly, Neal felt the pressure and the fear building up that he would be trapped like an animal to her mercies.

Tentatively, Neal struck back, slowly trying to reverse the direction of the action. Yuki's glaive bit at his sides and came disturbingly close to disarming him. He watched her more carefully, feeling gradually more positive towards attacking back now that it seemed as if her anger at him had ebbed or perhaps it was her abrupt change in confidence, the brash look on her face that proclaimed she would triumph. As Yuki lunged forward to pinion him to the wall, Neal ducked to bring his sword around to smack the broad part of it into her side.

Instead, Yuki contorted her body to the left, lifting her glaive over his head and following through with a blow to the side of his cheek.

Neal stumbled backwards, his ears ringing deafeningly in protest, and he felt a trickle of blood at his nose. Yuki's next blow came soaring for his shoulder and Neal dodged to the left to avoid it. Another blow with her glaive missed his back by a mere fraction of mark and instead lodged itself deep within the wall.

While Yuki freed her weapon, Neal took the time to scramble to his feet and brace himself for anything she would have to offer. Blocking her attempt to the side of his head, Neal bit his tongue nearly in half as she reversed the thrust of the pole like a seesaw and smacked it right into his hip. Drawing his sword up evenly with his elbow, Neal pushed Yuki back a step, throwing all of his weight into moving her back. As she fell a second step, Neal pulled back and locked her weapon into place. When he tried to tilt his sword around in a circle to disarm her, however, Yuki got her glaive free and brought it down upon his wrists.

Neal let out a sharp cry of pain, almost dropping his sword from the waves of shooting pain it sent up his arm. Yuki's attack, on the other hand, did not let up, and thankfully it forced him to forget it and recover quickly. In a desperate attempt to turn the tide, Neal swung his sword haphazardly at her chest. Caught slightly off-guard, Yuki was forced to hastily catch his sword up above her head.

With weapons locked high in the air, Neal stared Yuki down, peering into her vivacious chestnut eyes that sparked from their arduous exercise. Besides the blood, which had dried, Neal felt the beads of sweat forming and running down his face and covering his neck and down his back. Their heavy breathing joined time as they both gulped in the thin and biting oxygen of winter. It had been a while, though, since Neal had felt chilled. Instead, he was sure Yuki would agree that the room was burning up. Feeling her equal heaving and seeing the strain of the muscles in her arms, Neal took in a deeper breath. "Truce?" he barely got out before he was forced to take another mouthful of air.

Yuki shook her head. "Not so fast, Squire Nealan. It would seem that I am winning at the moment."

"You wish," Neal muttered playfully as he drew back and tried to aim for her side. Yuki easily countered the blow, now locking their weapons at the waist.

Tired of waiting, Neal made the first move, feinting to the right. When he tried to jab the hilt of his sword into her arm to disable her front, Yuki ducked low and out of reach of the blow, poking the end of the pole into the middle of his foot. Barely biting back a curse, Neal drew his foot back out of her range as quickly as if a snake had bit it, while Yuki brought her glaive up horizontally and thrust him back onto the floor.

Neal felt his wind rush out him as he less than gently rammed his posterior side into full contact with the less than gentle floor. As he dropped his sword aside and closed his eyes to keep from passing out, Neal felt a gentle knee pressed onto his chest, and he opened up to see Yuki's glaive pressed imperceptibly against his throat. "You won," he croaked, "you won."

Neal heard a clatter as Yuki tossed the weapon aside. Drawing closer to his face, Yuki smiled crookedly and let out a few chuckles of stifled laughter before she turned her face away. "I said I could trounce you."

His cheeks burned red as he poignantly felt her knee still in his chest and his back pressed against the floor in defeat. "You did," Neal admitted fairly, now breathing more deeply from something other than exercise. He struggled to rise into a sitting position, and Yuki began to oblige by removing her knee, before Neal's hand touched the back of her neck and caught her in a kiss.

_**To be continued...**_


	5. The Mr Fickle Reprise

**Author: Christy Anderson**

**Date: June 20, 2003**

**You can contact me at kittyunlimited@go.com or leave a review.**

**Author's Note: Well, I'm much more prompt this time. :) I'm getting better, but I've probably just cursed myself. Along with all the other chapters, this must be a favorite too, comparably enjoyable to the first and yada, yada... but stories always seem to get more interesting when you further the conflict, so enjoy!!- Christy**

**Disclaimer: Tamora Pierce owns them all, even if we wish that were not how it stood.**

**Chapter 5: The Mr. Fickle Reprise**

Carrying a tray laden with leftovers from the Midwinter feast, Neal anxiously made his way toward the table where his friends had begun to gather. The atmosphere hung sorrowfully about the room like the droopy decorations that persisted for the last day to grace the walls with their faded festive splendor. Neal felt too keenly the downward tug on his spirits, but he was determined to enjoy his last meal with his friends before the Lioness got her hold on him.

"Why so glum, chum?" Owen cheerily called out as Neal drew nearer, clearing his way through the throng of hungry pages and squires.

Halted cold in his tracks, Neal could only use his total self-control to refrain from rolling his eyes and crying out in desolation. He shivered thinking about the jolly extent of Owen's jollily regular jolliness. "Why so jolly, Wally, yourself?" Neal retorted back, shaking his head. He slid his tray onto the table and clambered over the bench, across from the giant and his sidekick.

Cleon, already two-thirds through his meal after five minutes, finished tearing a chunk out of the roll he had shoved up into his gigantic mouth and slowly put it down, his eyebrows raised in concern. "Upset over another Lady, Neal?" he apprehensively questioned low and breathlessly.

Setting his mouth into a firm expression of cavernous disgust, Neal squared his shoulders proudly. "No" he drawled, "for his _graciousnessesez'_ information, I am _not_ distraught over _a lady_." He elevated his nose far into the air and shot a penetrating and condescending look across the table as if to say 'You think you know it all, hah!'

"What's this nonsense?"

Neal looked up at the prince, who familiarly took a seat beside Owen, his tray heaped with spinach and apple crisps, causing Neal to shudder at the way they equally shared space. "No offense, Roald," he added in case his last comment had been overheard and bred affront.

Before the newcomer could respond, however, Cleon abruptly let out an enormous sigh of blissful relief. "That's good," he responded joyfully, "because the last thing I wanted to do here was listen to you spouting off about your woebegone heart."

Taken aback and stunned at his friend's painful frankness, Neal pretended to be shot by an arrow, clutching his hands desperately over his heart, clawing at the air, and making sputtering sounds as if he fatally choked upon his last breath.

Used to the usual madness by now, Roald could only shake his head, giving up hope that his year-mates would ever grow up. "Dare I ask whatever has gone awry?"

For Roald's delicate sake, Neal sobered up, acutely aware that not too many of his friends could actually withstand the full force of his harebrained antics and melodramas. He took in a deep breath of the ambient air, still redolent of evergreens and wine, and gradually released it. "Ah," he sighed ecstatically, "sweet freedom gone by- that is the problem."

From the other side of the table, Cleon nodded his head in agreement. "I can't imagine returning to the service of Sir Inness," he muttered miserably.

Neal arched his eyebrows in mock-disbelief. "Sir Inness! Sir Inness!" he exclaimed, "Kel's brother?! You have no idea how easily you have it the both of you. Why Roald even gets to stay behind and court his sweetheart. How I desperately envy you both."

"Ay," Roald placated, "We've all heard of the Lioness and pity you."

"I am truly disconsolate," Neal continued as if nothing had interrupted him. "If she has the inclination, she will have my head served on a platter, the Lioness, and eat me raw for dinner. Everyday she inflicts such evil upon me that it threatens to overwhelm my spirit. If I ever make it to becoming a knight, I fear I will be an unalterably broken man."

"Stop being a Meathead, Neal, and eat your vegetables." From behind his right shoulder, Kel came around and sat down beside him, smiling pleasantly. "When do you ship out?"

Neal groaned with dramatic flair, holding his face in the palms of his hands. "The Lioness drags me off at dawn," came a smothered moan as Neal churned with the nausea that arose at all the vicious scenarios that danced through his head at the thought. "She's always rabid in the mornings."

Beside him, Kel laughed a little, draping a comforting arm across his back. "Quit being so downtrodden. The King will insist the Lioness be civil on Progress."

"If we ever reach it in time" Neal slurred sorrowfully. "She has arranged a long detour to the coast and through the sands of the dried dead, dastardly devilish desert."

"Spare us," Prosper complained, slamming his tray of stewed vegetables and pasta onto the table as he leapt over the bench to crash down beside Neal. As the bench jolted Neal's head narrowly from a heavy collision with the edge of his plate, Owen precariously climbed over the table to steal a seat beside Prosper, almost putting his foot into Roald's soup and toppling Kel's mug of cider. Mutters and groans of complaint rose up from the coterie, with Neal in particular shooting daggers at the munchkin due to the agitation of his short-lived peril.

"You shouldn't look so sour, Neal," Owen quipped unabashed, leaning around Prosper to offer some comfort. "The Lioness will be appeased at the sight of her family."

As the sole dignified persona at the table, even in the presence of his motley crew, Roald nodded solemnly. "She is forced to spend long months of duty away from them, after all."

"Of course," Kel added sympathetically, "and if you don't return to us as the puddle of pulverized pulp that you ought to be, we would be very much obliged to finish it for you."

Neal grinned wryly at the jest, feeling his spirits lift as he searched for a fast but equally evil return.

"Kel," Cleon called pitifully for his enlarged size, "When do you leave, Kel?" he entreated urgently. "Is it soon?"

All thoughts of nagging retorts faded abruptly as Neal carefully peeled his fixated glance off of Kel to stare at the bulk that was Cleon transform into an awkward being completely unfamiliar.

"Huh?" Cleon prompted, his gray eyes oddly big, rounded, and watery.

In the moments that followed, Neal sat paralyzed, frozen by his emerging revelation. As the heavens gradually parted, he felt the imminent laughter slowly bubbling up inside of him, like water from a twisted spring. It was a strange idea, wildly concocted yet so blatantly genuine- a truth skulking about in the black ignorance of his mind, so evidently obvious that it had robbed him blind of any such thought. - Cleon was in love.

Neal's body shook with suppressed laughter. Glancing around to discover who shared in his remarkable revelation, Neal astonishingly found his friends strangely undisturbed in their activities. Roald, distracted from Cleon's strangled lovesick mating calls, chatted heatedly with Prosper over the last exciting jousting match, and Owen, as always, remained clueless with a blank but jolly look upon his rounded cherub face. Even Kel, unusually intrigued by her dining utensils, did not seem to notice anything awry.

Caught in the chasm of ethereal enlightenment, Neal struggled and sputtered for words, philandering as the sole keeper of a phenomenal something. Cleon was in love, that big mass of man, muscle, and muscularity was now a a a pansy- yes, a gaudy, whimsical, prosaic plant; as harmless as as well the train of thought tired him, but it was still humorous.

Kel cleared her throat. "I leave tonight, as soon as dusk falls. My lord would have us gainfully employed before Progress."

Cleon's spirits seemed to crash, like a boulder off a cliff, through the floor and deep into a dark, deserted, and solitary quagmire far inside the earth.

Not in tune to Cleon's bottomless downward spiral, Kel snatched the last smidgen of spinach off of her fork, looking up anxiously at the candle sconce that marked off the hours of the day. "In fact," she continued, draining her cider, "I should be off. My lord expects me to have the supply wagons prepared."

"Do you have to go?" came a strained but childish plaint from the molten pool of disappointment that once resembled Cleon.

Caught off guard this time, Kel's Yamani mask twisted into a startled expression. "Of course," she replied uncertainly, giving Neal a brief halfhearted embrace. Taking a full sweep of the table, a distant look came into her eyes, but was abruptly suppressed. "I'll see you all soon, I promise. Mithros bless." Smiling and waving, Kel turned to disappear amidst the horde of feasting boys.

At her departure, Roald lifted up his head, stirred out his concentration on the entirely separate sports discussion with Prosper, simultaneously taking note of the time. Looking mysteriously unsettled, Roald nervously fussed with his emptied dishes, before standing apologetically, slightly lowering his head. "I am afraid I must be off as well," he began with the strong sense of importance that seemed to always trail him. A cry of protest rose up from Prosper, and Owen nearly hopped to his feet in complaint, but Roald simply raised a hand. "I have an unavoidable meeting with my knightmaster."

Neal nodded in understanding, keenly remembering all the unreasonable requests of the Lioness, and even Owen, now silent, fell back in resignation. As Cleon generously spared a halfhearted grunt, Prosper made his objections even louder, shoving his plate of scarcely touched food farther in front of him so he would not knock it over. "I'll make my way with you, as far as I can, then. After all, you cannot expect me to relinquish my right to win this debate now, can you? There's no way Sir Raoul will unhorse Wyldon at the next event."

With feigned brevity, Roald gave his agreement and the two went off, heads locked together, still arguing on their way out of the Mess Hall.

For a moment, desolation set in at the sudden but absolute abandonment, as even down the way, tables systematically evacuated. Looking down at his cooked spinach, Neal began to segregate his broccoli from the carrots. _It isn't natural that they should mingle_, Neal thought to himself out of mind-numbing boredom. Beside him, Owen nervously began to clink his fork against the table and his spoon against his glass, creating grating high-pitched noises while heaving large depressing sighs. Cleon sat sodden across the table, as lively as a gray mushroom, with his head nearly resting in his food, the poor sap. Commencing to look from one to the other, Neal wondered what had gone wrong, his original ideas of merriment and gaiety at the last meal before his death sentence eaten away by the acid of reality as the precious minutes until dawn ticked away.

_We certainly make a lively trio_, Neal thought to himself, seriously contemplating departing and retreating to his room. Such thoughts were strongly uprooted instantaneously though by frightening thoughts of Alanna packing in a frenzied hurry. Even if he had to entertain two pet rocks, Neal would much rather avoid the loud sounds of insane activity and violent aggravation. Oddly enough, he could not revel in the thoughts of having his ears chewed off by the Lioness' incendiary temper.

"Come on," Neal encouraged suddenly, pushed over the edge by the growing murderous silence, "surely, we have subjects to discuss."

Unpredictably, Owen remained unenthused by Neal's attempts, unexpectedly driven to packing up his dishes and leaving with a meager word of farewell, shuffling his feet out of the room.

The shuffling delivered the final blow Neal could withstand. He felt stricken and betrayed as his good, old, dependable Owen turned his back on the table and walked away, a hollow semblance of his former jolly self. Neal felt like losing hope- if even the kid had caved, why shouldn't he?

Cleon glanced up as Owen tossed his flatware back into the large vats that some pages had been assigned to wash. "Where has everyone gone?" he mumbled uninterestedly, sniffling, and wiping his bulbous nose on his sleeve.

Unaffected by his friend's charms, Neal maliciously narrowed his eyes. "You are sure skilled at clearing a room," he retorted, whipping his face around as one of the pages unloading dishes smashed a few while tripping over a chair.

A low muttering rose from across the table, and Cleon paused to sit for taller for a while, appearing utterly demoralized. "I suppose that I got carried away" he admitted reluctantly.

Chagrined, Neal compressed his lips and nodded his head dejectedly. "And I suppose that's a good start," he rejoined, "but you could explain how it all came about."

For the first time since Kel's arrival, Cleon's eyes brightened with the presence of thought. "I'd rather refrain" he concluded climatically before melting down once again into the putty of self-pity.

This time Neal smiled positively. "Then let's not," he conceded, "but you should refrain as well from your accusations of nursing woebegone hearts."

Expecting a fast snide comment, Neal braced himself for the giant's fury that sort of sizzled out as Cleon continued to sit there unaffected and unmoved. "Livening conversation this is," Neal grumbled to himself, conjecturing about all the reasons he still sat on the bench across from well, it was his friend Cleon, in spite of everything.

"Fine person to talk," Cleon replied sarcastically. "You have your minutes of drama all the time. I feel entitled to my five."

"Million," Neal finished, rolling his eyes.

Cleon gave a chuckle. "Don't spoil it," he warned, shaking his head. "I feel rejected as it is. She did not even notice me this time."

Raising the corner of his mouth, Neal nodded in agreement. "It could have been worse, Cleon," he reminded his sizeable companion, "At least she didn't spurn your attentions."

"And you have seen plenty of that I gather," Cleon replied, smiling a little.

Neal laughed at himself. "I can honestly say that I have had my fair share of snubbed attentions." He laughed again, more deeply this time. "Seems just like yesterday." 

Cleon laughed even harder. "It was yesterday," he chuckled, the pale color fading out of his sunken cheeks.

Rapidly and considerably troubled, Neal met Cleon's eyes and stared at his flaming-haired friend. "It was not," he retorted disbelievingly.

Unashamed, Cleon shrugged. "It certainly seemed like you were interested in a new girl every day."

At his friend's suggestion, Neal fell silent, looking into his cup of warm milk, swirling it gently. "I don't enjoy everyone's suggestion that I was so choosy, indecisive, and not committed," he pouted. "Why I"

" had chosen to be choosy," Cleon concluded, erupting into a bout of new hilarity.

Feeling like grabbing that enormous nose across the table and pinching it, Neal just continued to fixate himself on his milk as his anger flared up and then down. "You know, I didn't start out cracking jokes about your ailment."

The laughter across the way halted abruptly, and Cleon's face made Herculean attempts to straighten up. "I apologize," Cleon compromised, "but you were assuredly as fickle as I was flowery."

That word again fickle Only two syllables long and it flooded his mind. He could imagine the gears grinding in his head, feel the senseless smoke pouring out his ears. Fickle, to be fickle- the way the word was said and how it stuck in the mouth like something disgusting, like peanut butter. In the list of words he would use to describe himself, fickle had not made the cut. Without doubt, his friends found him annoying at times, even a menace. He easily got carried away or confused. He was loud sometimes, and at others, he could be just as evil and child-like as his knightmaster. But fickle? Fickle?- to be considered so petty, so shallow, it really tore at his heart. Was it truly so?

"But I insist," Cleon persisted, "it must be easier for you now to determine the right type of girl for you. After being with so many, you probably can sight the one girl for you, that special someone, with no problem at all. Look how quickly you picked up Yuki."

Neal turned mentally towards his relationship with Yuki, the love of his life, and it was nothing short of a miracle.

"Look at me, I am not sure if Kel is really the girl for me."

It was magic. It had to be.

"But you, you should know, recognize that special feeling possess it."

He couldn't believe how lucky he was.

"At first, Neal, I have to admit I wondered about you; I was worried."

The luckiest man alive was he.

"Your relationship with Yuki-we all wondered."

He had never felt happier.

"You couldn't blame us. We thought it was another one of your trips down 'True' Love Lane. We thought that it was temporary; it wouldn't last, but you have really stuck it out for longer than any of us would have pegged you for."

Never, ever, had he been happier in his life.

"Were you really meant for one another, we all wondered. It was like a question of broccoli and carrots. Are they meant to mix and mingle together?"

Neal jolted to his senses by the strange line of questioning he had thought he had heard. "A question of what?" he shouted suddenly, knocked from his internal reflection.

"Broccoli and carrots, or something like that," Cleon replied. "You and Yuki are such different people. We all wondered if you had really fallen in love with her or enchanted yourself again into falling in love with a travesty of love, a clean-cut image of beauty, and not with what lied within. You don't match."

Neal looked back down at his plate, wondering about the fickle complex that seemed to border on the edge of every serious conversation he hosted with any of his friends over love. Why did everyone seem to think that he couldn't find true love but instead hopped from girl to girl, pursuing satisfaction? It had almost been an entire season now since he had met Yuki why. why Neal failed to piece the argument together.

He picked up his fork, so depressed by his thoughts that he could only manage to process the notion of food. A scoop of mashed potatoes, and Neal lowered his fork again to skewer a stalk of broccoli.

The battered utensil crashed tragically onto the table and bounced to the floor, hitting with memorable, loud fatal sounds. The broccoli he saw- the carrots! It was just like Cleon had said; he had segregated them.

Still rambling over Kel and who knew what, Cleon paused and glanced up at his friend, this time sincerely concerned. "Are you all right, Neal?" he asked, gathering up bowls, plates, and mugs.

Neal bit his lip, but managed a weak nod.

Cleon didn't seem to notice. "Goodnight, Neal," he said as a parting, "I'll see you on Progress."

Numb to the core, Neal barely noticed Cleon's exit, his farewell, or the confused look he shot over his shoulder as he left the deserted hall. It was only the disquieting line dividing his vegetables that entranced him long into the night hours.

_**To be continued...**_

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